


Draw Me a Picture

by Angelise (angelise7)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Wooing, Zine: Diverse Doings 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4375829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezra is being courted but by whom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Me a Picture

**Author's Note:**

> Pulling out an old zine story and dusting it off! God, I miss this show!

I, my dear friends, am being courted.

By a secret admirer.

A secret admirer of the **male** persuasion.

You may ask… how did I discover the gender of my admirer? I would like to claim it was due to my superior skills of logic and deduction but, alas, it was actually a simple mistake on the part of one of my companions.

Mister Dunne, to be exact.

Our young sheriff inadvertently imparted that vital detail by using the word ‘he’ when delivering my gift this past evening. Everyone else has presented me with my gift using the exact same phrase the person before him used. 

“I was told to give this to you.”

Mister Dunne, while overcome with mirth, made the mistake and said, “He told me to give this to you.” The boy’s error was instantly caught by one of the five men sitting at the table with me, and a groan of exasperation serenaded my ears. Tearing my gaze away from the present, I searched the faces before me but was unable to identify the owner because the sound was quickly echoed by every member of my adopted family. Each man rushed to cover the error, trying their best to confuse me by loudly engaging the person to his left or right in a lively conversation. A detail that did not go unheeded and led me to my most recent deductions on this matter.

They are all in on the secret **and** my admirer hides within their midst. 

You ask me for proof and I give you these simple facts.

Number one -- the method of delivery. 

Each gift has been given to me by one of my six brothers-in-arms. They have all assumed the role of Cupid, some of them repeating their performance more than once during the past ten days. And, may I say, it is quite enlightening to watch how each one interprets the part he has been assigned to play.

Mister Larabee simply takes a seat beside me, shoves the gift in my direction and, with a most somber voice, repeats the phrase my admirer has scripted for him to speak.

Mister Tanner also plays a subdued Cupid but there is always a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a knowing smile on his lips as he slides my present across the table. 

Mister Wilmington is… well, Buck is Buck and puts on a big show for everyone when it is his turn. His romantic declarations and outlandish performance would indeed be worthy of an award if such were being given out.

Our resident healer appears confused about the whole thing but goes about his duties with utmost politeness and efficiency. Removing his hat, he says his line, hands over the present and disappears into the throng that is normally crowded at the bar. 

The youngest member of our family has been overcome with nervous laughter each time he has approached me and, after his most recent faux pas, I do not believe he will be allowed to reprise his role.

And Mister Sanchez? His interpretation of Cupid was unique, to say the least, and I am quite sure the residents of Four Corners will not soon forget his sermon on the nature of love and the art of courtship. It would be redundant to note that I, myself, will **never** forget being presented with my gift by the slow-talking preacher as I stood in the presence of the Almighty and every God-fearing soul in this town.

Let it be known that Mister Sanchez will not be taking home any charitable contributions in the near future, not from my winnings, at least.

Moving on…. 

Number two -- the nature of the gift.

The nature of the gift is undeniable proof that my secret admirer is, indeed, one of the six men to whom I have pledged my loyalty. Upon my bedroom wall are ten very simple charcoal drawings, each one depicting the memory of a recent event in my life. I stand before them now, examining every stroke for a clue that will point me in the direction of the man who has captured my affection with this romantic endeavor.

There is a drawing of myself and the Indian children we encountered on our first mission of justice. Next to it is one of Chaucer and myself as we prepare to leave on a ride with my brothers in arms. An amazing representation of my mother tapping me on my cheek hangs over my bed and just below it is a sketch of that rainy afternoon Buck and I sat inside the jail and our resident Lothario fixed my cherished pocket watch.

I straighten the drawing of myself and the Judge, frowning at the memory of my temporary incarceration. Not exactly a moment I wish to relive again. My gaze then moves on to a group portrait with myself in the middle. It is flanked by a drawing of what I consider to be the finest dramatic performances of my career -- masquerading as a woman. The color of that dress most certainly brought out the color of my eyes.

I impatiently tap the edge of the illustration that shows me conversing with Mary Travis’ son during one of his visits inside the saloon. Something about the drawings has caught my attention but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I take a step back and, again, examine each charcoal rendition, taking my time, narrowing my vision, reliving each moment in my mind. 

There it is.

My admirer has made a critical error, sketched a memory that only he and I are privy to.

Slipping on my hat, I pause with my hand on the doorknob, my gaze returning once again to that specific drawing. A smile spreads slowly across my face as my plan coalesces and I touch the brim of my hat in salute to the man who will soon taste my kisses.

The saloon is quite busy by the time I make my way downstairs. I decline the offer to join several of my associates in a game which, of course, raises an eyebrow of curiosity on Mister Larabee’s face. “Business,” I explain with a smile and he nods his head, resuming his intense contemplation of the glass of whiskey sitting before him. 

I locate my unsuspecting volunteer of information at the bar and carefully insinuate myself directly behind him. The second his attention is caught by one of the young ladies who work at this establishment, I lean forward and make my request.

“Where’s Buck, JD?”

Without checking to see who’s doing the asking, the boy automatically answers, “He’s down by the creek, drawing.”

My young friend’s mouth falls open in dismay as I move into his field of vision. “Oh, shit! Ezra!” he exclaims, his glass of beer falling to the floor. Stepping around the mess, I signal to Inez to bring JD another drink; it’s the least I can do to reward his unwilling assistance.

The lad is still staring at me open-mouthed and I can’t help but chuckle at his expression of consternation. “Do not worry, JD. Buck will soon be quite occupied and won’t have time to consider the punishment he will inflict upon the one who confessed his whereabouts.” 

I gently close his mouth by tapping on his chin. “In fact, it would be safe to say that Mister Wilmington will be noticeably absent during the next few days. Would you be so kind as to inform the others? I would appreciate it greatly.” Tipping my hat to the boy and his grinning companion, I bid my farewell and jauntily weave my way through the crowd and out of the saloon.

It takes me less than a quarter of an hour to locate my future lover. Buck is sitting on the ground, resting against the trunk of a giant oak that stretches its thick branches over the stream. I take a moment to admire the way the sunlight glints off his dark hair as he concentrates on the small pad of paper he has balanced on his knee. My contemplation is disturbed when Buck makes a sound of disgust and throws his current project on the grass between his feet. Rolling his head as if to loosen the muscles of his neck, he reaches up and brushes his charcoaled-stained fingers over his cheek, leaving behind a shadowy smear I’m unable to resist.

Approaching as silent as a cougar about to claim his prey, I kneel behind Buck and whisper in his ear as my hand caresses the smudge on his cheek. “I believe I was wearing the Paris shirt, the one with the wide ruffled cuffs on that particular day.” With a wave of my hand, I indicate the discarded drawing on the ground.

Buck jerks back from my touch. “Damn it, Ezra!” He slams his hat on his head and scoots away, placing a respectable distance between the two of us. “You tryin’ to scare the life out of me?” 

The look of shock on Buck’s face makes me grin and I follow after him, balancing my weight by placing my hands on either side of his hips. His eyes widen impossibly larger and his mouth falls open as he struggles to speak. Clearly this is not the time for conversing and I move closer, prepared to savor the lips that are being constantly wetted by a nervous tongue. 

“Oh yes, Mister Wilmington, the tables have been turned, and it is now your turn to be the one enticed to share your sweet kisses.”

The taste that settles upon my lips is unexpectedly a warm kiss from the afternoon’s sun and my eyes fly open to find Buck has jumped to his feet and is flailing wildly backwards, his flight of escape bringing him precariously close to the edge of the stream. I reach out a hand and lightly stroke the length of his leg, meaning only to reassure my skittish lover-to-be. With an understanding smile spreading across my face, I inch my curious fingers closer to the delights that lie between Buck’s muscular thighs. 

“Come, come, my dear Mister Wilmington, you need not act the shy virgin. We are both men of the world and have had our share of dalliances.” My hand maps the contours that will, most assuredly, bring me great delight. “Let us not waste this beautiful April afternoon for it is a day for leisurely deeds of mutual affection.”

A violent splash greets my playful advances and I frown at the dark patches of dampness that stain my velvet green jacket. Lifting my gaze, I find Buck floundering in the knee-deep water of the stream and, forgetting the ruination of my attire, I move to rescue my companion. “Dear heart, let me . . .”

“What the hell is going on here, Ezra?” Buck stumbles backwards, losing his hat and his balance before landing on his butt in the water.

Tipping back the brim of my own hat, I stare in confusion at the man who is doing everything short of drowning to avoid my touch. “I do not understand, Mister Wilmington. I am merely trying to thank you for the gifts of affection you have been sending to me.”

“I do believe you’re thankin’ the wrong man,” a voice drawls lazily behind me.

Twisting around abruptly disturbs my center of gravity and I stumble with all the grace of a newborn colt. To my amazement, it is not the ground that catches me but the arms belonging to our fearless leader, Chris Larabee.

“Fallin’ for me already?”

Chris’ eyes crinkle at the edges as a rare smile curves his mouth and he easily sets me on my feet, his large, callused hands assisting mine as I straighten my jacket and shirt. I stare up at him, disbelief assuredly written all over my features. 

“Chris? I mean, Mister Larabee?”

“Chris will do just fine, Ezra. Don’t think it would sound right you callin’ me Mister Larabee while we’re partakin’ in  . . . how did you put it, leisurely deeds of mutual affection on this beautiful April afternoon.”

Another splash of water catches me, this time several drops finding their way into my mouth, which is still wide open with shock.

“Guess we got him good, huh, Chris?” Grinning at the two of us, Buck again slaps his waterlogged hat against his thigh. “You were right when you said it’d throw him off the trail if I did that drawing of just him and me.”

Chris gently closes my mouth, his thumb remaining behind to brush across my lower lip. “Yeah, we got him good, Buck. I don’t think I’ve seen him at this much of a loss for words since the first time his Ma came to town.”

My brain finally registers the fact that my secret admirer is not Buck Wilmington but is, instead, Mister Chris Larabee, the man who threatened my continued existence on this earth shortly after we met, the man I have secretly harbored feelings for but would never have, in a million years, contemplated as the one wooing me. Ready to protest his devious method of courtship, I tear my gaze away from his startling eyes of emerald green, but his smiling lips catch my attention, and I am drawn to the way they slowly part, giving me a glimpse of the moist heat inside.

Fingers tangle themselves in my hair and I feel my head being coaxed closer to the mouth that is whispering my name with just a hint of breathless passion. I close my eyes in surrender, confused at the sudden shift of my emotions. One moment I was the hunter, ready to claim Buck as my lover. Now, I’m the hunted and I realize I want to be caught—caught by **this** man—caught in his arms, claimed by his body and imprisoned by his love.

“Mister Lar… Chris. You? You want me?”

Chris lowers his mouth to my cheek and lingers there, tasting the afternoon stubble that lies like a dark shadow across my skin. “You’re all I think about, Ezra, and you have no idea how long I’ve waited to make you mine.”

The lawman’s mouth rocks gently upon my lips, possessing them with such patience I nearly die from wanting more. He laughs quietly as I surrender a sigh to our first kiss. 

“You like that? Want me to do it again?”

My hands wander the breadth of Chris’ wide shoulders while I move as close as possible to him. “Yes. Again.”

Chris angles my head while at the same time insinuating a knee between my slightly trembling legs. “Might as well get in the proper position, don’t’cha think?” 

My body immediately agrees with the gentle nudging of Chris’ knee and a moan escapes me when I feel an answering hardness bumping against my hip. “You are most correct in your assumption.” 

I wet my dry lips and a sudden rush of heat sears its way south as I watch Chris’ eyes dilate with desire as he follows the motion of my tongue. “Kiss me, please.” I close my eyes only to open them with surprise when a hand slaps me hard on the back, jarring the breath from my chest.

“If you two lovebirds don’t mind, I’ll be getting myself back to the saloon and into some dry clothes.” Buck’s leering grin fills my vision, and I can’t help but smile at this particularly jovial reincarnation of Cupid.

“Thanks, old friend. Thanks for the drawings and for understanding this.” Chris nods at me, his gaze never moving from the vicinity of my mouth. “Tell Inez we’ll be a little late for supper.”

“Wait!” I make a subtle move with my hips and smile cheekily when a film of sweat breaks out across Chris’ upper lip. I do believe it will be my pleasure to test the limits of our fearless leader’s patience. Does he possess the fortitude to resist my skillful advances while I catalogue every inch of his delectable physique? I think not but won’t it be a delightful endeavor to engage in?

“Ezra? Lasso that brain of yours and tell Buck whatever it is you wanted to say.”

Images of arms and legs carefully secured with rope to bedposts take residence in my . . .

“Ezra!”

My cheeks no doubt are flaming with the heat of embarrassment. I cough to clear the unbridled lust holding my tongue hostage.

“Mister Wilmington, please inform Inez and the rest of our illustrious group that the two of us will be unavailable for several days. I believe this business between Mister Larabee and myself will . . .” My grin widens when Chris frowns at my use of his proper name. “. . . take more than an afternoon to conduct properly.”

“Good. Means more of Inez’s cooking for me.” Buck shifts his hands to our shoulders and grips them in a friendly fashion.  “You boys play nice, ya hear?”

Neither Chris nor I watch our friend leave, we’re too occupied in discovering who can hold his breath the longest while kissing. The sound of Chris’ gasp awards me the victory. I pull away to articulate my success only to have my gloating smile captured by the gentlest of kisses. It effectively steals what little air I’ve managed to draw inside my over-taxed lungs.

The taste of whiskey-laden smoky kisses is indeed addictive. Add to that husky growls of possessiveness and I’m immediately reminded of the image my brain tempted me with a few minutes ago.

Chris Larabee tied to my bed.

Naked. 

Hmmm . . . maybe I’ll allow him to wear his gun belt, minus his Colt, of course. No use risking my well-being while taming my wild stallion.

Or better yet, maybe use the rope to lasso his sizeable . . .

Chris interrupts my musings with another thought-shattering kiss.

“You know, that look on your face makes me wonder if I should be running for my life but since I was never one to turn down a challenge . . . wanna play nice, Ezra?”

“Why, Mister Larabee! I thought you’d never ask.”

Literally, my friend. Literally.

 

The end

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> And . . . [you can follow me and my eclectic tastes on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)


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